


Blast a Big Bore

by Anonymous



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Adult/Minor, Gags, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Under-Desk Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29734788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Maybe it was Iwai’s idea, or maybe it was Akira’s. Either way, Iwai’s pretty pleased with how it’s going.
Relationships: Iwai Munehisa/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44
Collections: Anonymous





	Blast a Big Bore

There’s a spot, under the counter, that nobody can see. Untouchable doesn’t exactly see a lot of foot traffic anyway, so maybe the whole damn shop counts, but there’s a spot under the counter that’s just a mess of wires and empty space, and you can’t see it from the other side. Iwai used to store bags and packaging shit there so he could grab it easily. Those boxes are in the back now, because he’s found something better to do with the spot.

It started as a joke, like everything seemed to. An offhand comment, a smartass reply, a smirk and a dare and Iwai couldn’t resist either one, never could, so he had to follow through. He suspects he lost control of the situation somewhere along the way, even though he’s not the one cuffed and gagged and shoved under the counter.

It ain’t even the first time this happened.

Kid’s been down there for a while now, being quiet, being good. Well, mostly. There’s the occasional shift, a sigh, a glint of deep black eyes. He looks good (‘course he does, it’s impossible for him to look anything else). The angle makes him look up through the dark fringe of his hair, past those luscious eyelashes. His hands are cuffed in front of him, posing him like a supplicant. (One of these days Iwai’s gonna learn some ropework, because the kid’s so fuckin’ gorgeous that he deserves to get all wrapped up in silk ribbons like a present. Or hogtied with rough hemp.)

The red rubber ball gag’s a classic for a reason. The kid’s lips barely fit around it, pink and wet, and he’s drooling from the corners of his mouth. There’s just the hint of white teeth digging in, just a slip visible past those lips. The red pops against the kid’s gorgeous skin and ebony hair, like blood on snow. The fact that it matches his school uniform perfectly is a sweet bonus. It’s not like Iwai’s got a thing for a uniform, but it’s actually pretty fucking chic and the kid looks damn good in it. Iwai’s gotta be careful not to get it too messy. Wouldn’t be good for the kid to show up with suspicious stains on his school uniform.

Aside from the cuffs, the main thing keeping him in place is Iwai, legs on either side of him, solid as walls. The legs haven’t moved since the kid went down there and they’re not gonna, if Iwai’s got anything to say about it. Which he might not, but hey. Worth a shot. 

There’s a customer, which is more than a little annoying. Customers are the worst thing about this job. At least this guy’s just quietly browsing, not asking questions or making a mess. On a normal day that’d be fine, but today Iwai’s cock is hanging out of his pants and the kid’s spit is drying on it and he’s dying to get it back in that pretty mouth.

Finally, the guy buys something (some MREs and a duffel bag, like anybody willingly eats MREs). Iwai rings it up and bags it without moving, hands it over, waits. The second the door swings shut he grabs the kid by the jaw, pops the ballgag out, and sticks his cock back where it belongs. 

“Thought he’d never fucking leave,” he groans, getting a hand in Akira’s hair. He’d gotten soft but it doesn’t take long for the kid to fix that, almost sloppy in his desperation. Poor thing had to go without sucking dick for a whole  _ ten minutes.  _ Surely there’s no end to his suffering.

He doesn’t get a chance to vocalize this little dig because the kid lunges forwards, trying to swallow him down. Iwai leans back, groaning, but he doesn’t take his hand off Akira’s head. “You’re gonna kill me if you keep this up,” he says, managing to get the whole sentence out before his breath fails. Fuck, the kid’s mouth is good, but there’s something about the way he gazes up at Iwai - a little hungry, a little mad - that makes it goddamn impossible to let him rest. Instead he tightens his grip and pulls, forcing Akira down to a pace slow enough to infuriate him. He can hear it now, how he’d be complaining and trying to boss Iwai around - if his mouth wasn’t full of cock, that is. Iwai can take this exactly as fast as he wants. Honestly, that’s a lot faster than this, but it’s just plain fun to make the kid suffer a little.

Iwai sighs and closes his eyes. “You ain’t half bad at this,” he says, continuing his glacial pace. “You a natural? Or did somebody teach ya?” He opens his eyes, looks down, tightens his grip, grins. “Hard to imagine you’d let that happen.”

It’s got exactly the result he’s hoping for, which is Akira trying to pull away. Trying and failing because Iwai’s got a fistful of his hair so instead he shrieks, muffled by cock into a sweet little dull tone, and after a moment’s struggle looks back up, breathing hard. He’s drooling a little, a glistening little rivulet falling from the corner of his mouth. Iwai hasn’t decided yet if he’s gonna fuck him or just come in his mouth, but that’s definitely a point in the latter column. He thinks about the kid’s face streaked with cum and moans deep. He likes it when he floods the kid’s mouth with enough to spill out of his lips and drip down his chin. He likes it a lot.

He decides.

“You look real nice down there,” he mutters, nudging Akira’s thigh with the tip of his boot. “Bet you’re enjoying this.” He kicks the kid’s cuffed hands out of the way, prods him between the legs, feels him hard. Chuckles. 

The kid looks like he wants to say something. But he can’t, because Iwai shoves him down, forcing his cock right down his throat until he chokes and sputters. “Hey, careful,” Iwai says, pulling him off completely with a grin. “Don’t get greedy.”

Akira breaths hard, wipes his mouth on his sleeve, glares up at him with wet lips and wet eyes. It’s like he’s not sure what he wants to say, which Iwai likes a  _ lot. _ The kid’s always so fucking glib, sassy little punk, and it’s immensely satisfying to throw him off his rhythm. He looks like he doesn’t know whether to apologize or tell Iwai off. It’s cute.

Iwai shouldn’t be letting himself get so distracted, because he doesn’t notice somebody coming up to the door until the bell’s ringing and he barely manages to shove the kid back down out of sight in time. He’s a regular, or something like it, familiar enough for Iwai to recognize, and he gives a quick nod before starting to browse. Fine. Whatever. Iwai’ll have to wait a few more minutes. Probably a good thing to take a break if he doesn’t want to blow his load right away anyway.

He doesn’t realize until it’s too late that he didn’t pop the gag back in.

Akira’s a fucking asshole sometimes. He knows there’s a customer in the shop, knows goddamn well that this little game is a huge risk already, but Iwai can feel his breath on his dick and it’s all the warning he gets. Not including the ones he’s been ignoring since the day the kid first walked in here.

God _ damn _ Akira’s mouth feels good. Iwai can barely stand it, can barely keep from moaning as the little shit leans forward and sucks him down. Iwai leans forward on the counter, flips open a magazine, stares down at it, reads nothing, fights to keep all the tension under his waist. He’s lucky he’s got the radio on so loud, to drown out the delicious wet noises that accompany his torment. It’s fucking bullshit that he can’t look down and watch; that pretty sight’s going to waste.

There’s a customer less than ten feet away and he’s got a high-schooler sucking his cock.

It should sober him up but he’s a disgusting pervert who shifts his hips and grinds his teeth and huffs through his nose to keep from grunting because his

vision goes red and his cock throbs at the thought. The customer’s looking at a display of pocket knives. They’re short enough to be legal but they’re still in a case, which means Iwai’s stuck hoping the guy isn’t buying. Kind of the exact opposite of his job. Doesn’t have time to dwell on that because fuck, Akira’s got a hell of a tongue.

Iwai stares down at his magazine like he’s hoping to see through it, down to where this stupid kid’s got his lips locked around him and is sucking hard, like he’s trying to milk him, and hell, maybe he is. If he keeps this up, he’s gonna get a mouthful, that’s for sure. Probably wouldn’t even stop, if Iwai didn’t make him, just keep going until he sucks him dry. It’s way too appealing a thought.

Iwai tries not to jump at a clatter. He glances up to see the customer bending down, picking up a bottle of pellets. “Sorry,” he says.

Iwai just shakes his head. He’s lucky the thing didn’t burst open, spilling across the floor. It’d be a huge mess, it’d get everywhere, and the customer would see and know -

He chuckles to himself. Projecting. Then he catches his breath because Akira bobs his head, forcing himself down, and fuck, Iwai can feel his  _ throat. _ The kid’s taken him pretty deep before but he’s never quite worked his way all the way down and now it seems like he’s going for it, because Iwai can’t stop him, because there’s a fucking  _ customer _ and Iwai’s gotta stop reminding himself of that fact because it’s not helping him calm down one bit. He’d love to blame the kid for turning him into such a pervert, but he knows that ain’t fair. He’d agreed to this little game, knowing goddamn well that this might happen. Getting a blowjob in front of a stranger was supposed to be the worst outcome, but holy shit it was  _ not. _

He’s gotta keep his cool. Can’t move, can’t squirm, can’t groan, can’t sweat, can’t thrust into the kid’s hot wet mouth or tell him what a good job he’s doing or tease him back about the bulge in his little plaid school pants. Can’t let on that he’s losing his goddamn mind, that every muscle in his body is tense and ready to snap, that he’s absolutely dying and the only way to live through the next ten minutes is to grab the kid’s head and fuck his pretty little face.

He’d been kidding when he’d made that little comment about the kid being good at this. Now he regrets it, because it seems like the kid’s determined to prove just how goddamn good at it he can be. He’s not being gentle; this ain’t no dainty little cockwarming. Kid seems like he’s aiming for nothing less than to make Iwai come, right here and now, and oh, fuck, he might be able to pull it off.

Or suck it off. Heh.

Iwai doesn’t quite bite back a moan but turns it into a sound that doesn’t announce how close he is. Customer doesn’t even glance at him. Customer’s just browsing, slowly, like he doesn’t even have anything in mind, like the only reason he came into the shop was to torture Iwai. Everything seemed to be about that these days. But fuck it, it was nice torture.

Akira doesn’t let up, and Iwai’s losing it. His breath is hard now, sweat beading up on his forehead, his body twitching and jerking with every swipe of the kid’s sweet clever tongue. He’s coming up on a turning point, here, if he doesn’t stop this he’s going to come right here and now and if he wants to stop it he’s running out of time. He should want to stop it.

He takes a breath, lets it out slowly, and lets his knees fall apart just a little wider. Akira seizes the opportunity just how he’d hoped, shoving Iwai’s cock down his throat with sloppy jerky movements. Iwai tugs his hat down over his eyes and clenches his jaw and holds his breath and it happens, it fucking happens, his cock throbs and pulses and all his muscles are on fire and everything’s too hot and too bright and too much and he can feel Akira swallowing greedily, the filthy little slut, making Iwai come.

And then it passes. Iwai lets out a shaky breath, boneless and ruined, trying not to twitch as the kid licks him clean. The little shit kisses him on the tip of his cock like a peck on the cheek, like a sweet little thing, like he doesn’t have cum on his breath. Iwai starts to sober up a little, fully comprehend what a terrible fucking decision he just made, but it seems like he might get away with it because the customer snaps a picture of a display before heading out. Maybe he’s gotta consider the price, or he’s gotta consult someone else. Either way, he’s out, and the door swings shut, and Iwai moans and slumps over on his stool.

“You’re a real piece of work,” he said, pushing back from the counter enough to look down - and the kid’s staring up at him, smirking, cruel-eyed. Sometimes he wonders if the kid’s trying to get hit, with the bratty shit he pulls, but that doesn’t seem to be it. He’s not fishing for punishment. He just genuinely enjoys getting Iwai riled up, caught somewhere between infuriated and intoxicated. Punk.

Customer’s gone, shop’s empty, no one around. Which means when Iwai shoves the gag back into the kid’s mouth it’s purely vindictive. He knows he’ll be paying for it later, can see the fire in his eyes, but for now he goes back to his magazine and leaves the kid to stew.


End file.
